


A New Path

by FrodaB



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Missing Scene, Pre-Star Wars Rebels: Spark of Rebellion, Time Skips, jedi mumbo jumbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 22:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15761166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrodaB/pseuds/FrodaB
Summary: Kanan Jarrus is not a Jedi.





	A New Path

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfic in years, but re-watching the first season of Rebels has me needing to write some offscreen conversations. Alternates between pre-Rebels and scenes set during the first few episodes of the series, up to just after 1x09 "Gathering Forces".

_Then_

Working with Hera, Kanan has found, certainly has its ups and downs. On a good day, the op goes as planned: the contact meets them on time, in the right place, there's no ambush waiting for them, the intel is accurate, nobody gets hurt, they get whatever they came for and get paid for it, too.

On a bad day – well, on a bad day, Kanan is forcibly reminded that what Hera is doing has very high stakes – higher than he's usually willing to acknowledge. Especially on the worst days. Days when someone dies.

They're both quiet as they return to the Ghost on this particular day. There is no pursuit, which is a small mercy after what they've witnessed – the cold-blooded execution of an informant. Hera gets them to hyperspace quickly, without comment, and a few hours later they both find themselves in the kitchen, sipping cups of hot caf. It's been a long day.

“Why – why didn't you stop them?” It is the first thing Hera has said to him since they left that forsaken planet, and Kanan feels simultaneously a pang of guilt and a flash of anger.

“There was nothing I could've done,” he says, as calm as he can manage. Avoiding her gaze.

“Yes, you could've,” she replies, the anger creeping into her voice.

“No,” he says flatly. _He_ wasn't the one who pulled the trigger; it's not his fault their informant is dead. 

“Yes!” She slams her cup on the dejarik table a little too hard. “Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about! You could've done _something_ , you're a Je -”

“I. Am not. A Jedi.” His words cut through the air between them as effectively as a lightsaber through durasteel. It is the first time he's said the word since they met. They've always avoided the topic of what he is, what he can do, but now suddenly it's out there in the open. It can no longer be avoided.

“I'm not a Jedi,” he repeats, quieter this time, staring down into his cup so he doesn't have to see her eyes, which always want to hold him accountable. “The Jedi are dead, Hera. I was there. I saw it. All their big talk about the Force, and they died just the same. I should've died with them, but I ran. I ran, and I've been running ever since. So no, I'm not a Jedi, and if I'd done anything back there to help your contact, we'd all be dead now. Not just her, but me, and you too. Because there are no more Jedi.”

He leaves here there, in the kitchen. He needs to find something to hit. Or get really, really drunk.

\---------------------

_Now_

“Spill.” 

That is a tone of voice that brooks no argument, as Kanan knows from long experience. She might be deftly evading a squadron of TIE fighters right now, but she still isn't too busy to take him to task for whatever just happened back on Lothal.

“The kid,” Kanan says, shrugging, trying to keep it nonchalant. “I think he's Force-sensitive.”

Hera gives him a quick, sharp glance. “Which means... what?”

“Just that – if the Jedi Order still existed, he'd probably be someone's Padawan – like I used to be,” he says quickly. “I haven't sensed someone strong in the Force in a long time. It surprised me, and threw me off, is all.”

“He must've,” is all Hera says in response, returning to the task at hand after one last searching look at Kanan's face.

\---------------------

_Then_

“You're related to Cham Syndulla, aren't you?”

Hera blinks at him, a little surprised. He hasn't moved, still casually reclining in the co-pilot's chair, still paying more attention to the blue streaks of hyperspace outside than to her.

“He's my father,” she finally admits, with some reluctance.

“I can see why you don't tell people – you're practically royalty! Should I start using an honorific, milady?” He glances at her, sees the annoyance on her face and her lekku twisted in that way they do when he's being particularly obnoxious, and he grins.

“How do you know about him, anyway?” she asks, almost peevish, and Kanan shrugs.

“Heard stories about him as a kid, during the war. Standing up to Wat Tambor was gutsy. Everyone admired him. I think the Empire still teaches some of his tactics in the academies.”

Kanan almost never volunteers information about himself, so this speech turns her look to surprise. “Where did you hear stories about my father?” she asks, confused. “Did your parents -”

“Never knew my parents,” he says with another shrug. “I – I grew up on Coruscant, at the Jedi Temple. We didn't have parents, we had... Teachers. The Jedi Masters.”

There's a moment of silence as Hera studies his face, as if trying to glean more information from it than he's letting on. 

“The Jedi were your family,” Hera says eventually.

“I guess you could say that,” Kanan replies, too casual, looking once more out at space. He doesn't need her sympathy.

She doesn't say it, but she's clearly thinking it – all those Jedi, the only family Kanan had ever known, gone in a flash. He'd lost everything.

\---------------------

_Now_

There was a time when Kanan would've made at least a token argument over taking a pay cut in favor of intel that wouldn't turn a profit. Freeing slaves? There's no money in that. But Hera's been a bad influence on him, maybe. Or maybe he just doesn't want to be the kind of person who only values sentient life if he gets paid. Either way, they took Vizago's deal, and while his pockets are lighter than he'd been hoping after this job, if the info is good, they'll be doing something much more important soon.

“We could always take Ezra on,” Hera suggests, once the mercs are out of earshot.

“We haven't got room for another stray,” Kanan protests automatically. “Besides, his parents might have something to say about it.”

“Something tells me his parents aren't in the picture,” Hera points out. “He seems... lost. He reminds me of -”

“Don't even say it,” Kanan grumbles. “I can't – I know what you're suggesting, and I can't train him. Even if he's got the ability, it takes years and years... and I'm no teacher.”

Hera smiles at him. “I think you would be. Who better?”

“Um, an actual Jedi Master? Which, need I remind you, I am not.”

“You don't need to remind me. I know he's not going to find a Jedi Master. He's found you.”

Kanan scowls. She doesn't – can't possibly – understand. “We'll see,” he mutters, just as he spots Chopper coming towards them, indignant about a loth-rat rooting around in Kanan's bunk.

\---------------------

_Then_

“Who was she? Your master?” Hera's voice is quiet in the dark of the bunk. This has become habit for her, asking questions of him like this. Maybe she knows this is when he's most honest – with her, and with himself. She takes the opportunity to pick at his vulnerable places, not maliciously, which is why he allows it.

Hera is always careful with his damaged parts.

“Her name was Depa Billaba,” he says, and it's the first time he's said her name aloud in a very, very long time. “She was a general in the army, and a member of the Jedi Council.” The credentials roll off his tongue, easier than he expected them to. Hera is warm and steady beside him.

“What was she like?”

Kanan hesitates, giving her question some thought, digging up his memories. Examining them. 

“She was... kind. Compassionate. Patient, which – this is me she was training, so that was important.”

Another pause, and Hera doesn't laugh at his attempt at a joke. Her eyes glitter at him in the darkness. He glances away.

“She said she liked it when I questioned things,” he adds, and before he knows it, it's all rushing back. “She wasn't afraid to show me her own doubts and insecurities sometimes. She was... as good and wise as any Jedi could be. Whatever good there is in me, it's because of her.”

That gets Hera to sit up a little, resting her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “She saw what was already there,” she says after a moment. “And she did what she could to help cultivate it.”

The way she talks, it's almost like she just had a conversation with Depa, her tone is so firm, so confident. Kanan, for all his bluster, lacks that sense of conviction. He envies it, sometimes.

“It's my good luck that you think so,” he finally says, offering Hera a grin – the boyish one she seems to like so much. And then she's kissing him, and they're too busy to say anything else.

\---------------------

_Now_

“I'm not cut out for this,” Kanan says, perched on the edge of their bunk, head in his hands.

“Was it that bad?” she asks, her expression worried, her hands reaching out to inspect him for injuries.

“I thought I'd be training Ezra to defend himself from stormtroopers, deflect blaster fire, open a door here or there,” Kanan mutters. “I had no idea about the kriffing - _Inquisitors_ or whatever he is. I'm no match for that. And Ezra... Hera, what he did down there could've destroyed us all.”

He remembers – regaining consciousness, coming to surrounded by cold, and more than that – Ezra's fear and anger made manifest, an almost physical thing, nearly unstoppable.

“I could've lost him,” he adds after a moment. “To the Dark Side. I – Hera, I don't know how to teach him to overcome that.”

Her fingers find their way into his hair, rubbing at his scalp, a soothing, intimate gesture.

“How did _you_ learn?” she asks, and he shrugs vaguely. “Lots of ways, but – most of them, I can't do with Ezra. Or, I don't know how, or -” A noise escapes his throat, frustrated. “I feel like I've already failed him.”

“But you haven't,” Hera says quietly. “Kanan, Ezra looks up to you. As far as he's concerned, you're a hero. You may not live up to the image of the Jedi Masters in your head, but you _are_ the image of a Jedi Master to Ezra. If the way you learned things doesn't work, then find another way. You've always been good at improvising.”

He can feel her slight smile as she presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

“It scares me, too,” she admits quietly. “But we'll face it, like we face everything: together.”

Kanan nods, gripping her hand, twining their fingers. Together. He'll find a way.


End file.
